


Caving In

by ProseApothecary



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: AU where I just change a lot of random details for no reason, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Don't get it twisted: it's still a romcom, Everyone lives (except Pennywise), Guns, M/M, Neibolt, Not suicidal ideation per se but Richie is all about being self-sacrificing, Teenage Losers, This is my only IT fic that acknowledges it's a horror movie and not just a romcom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24642187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: It doesn’t take long to see the chalk markings at the centre of the cave.SEE THE SUNMAKE A CHOICETWO TO ONEA pistol sits underneath.Or: Richie and Eddie face The Scary Door at 13, not 40.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 127





	Caving In

“Regular scary,” Eddie pronounces, and Richie, for lack of a better option, opens it.

A dim cavern greets them. It’s hard to discern if there’s a way through. But something always blocks them from going back the way they came, so Richie shrugs at Eddie, and walks through the door.

Eddie’s making his way through when grains of sand and stone start getting sucked into the space, solidifying where they land. Richie pulls Eddie through in a panic, nothing in his head but _don’t go don’t go don’t go_ and before he can wonder if it would’ve been kinder to push him out instead, they’re staring at solid rock.

Richie can see the panic in Eddie’s eyes, mirroring his own, but there’s something else there too. Determination.

“There’s got to be a way out. It wouldn’t be a game, otherwise. What would be the point of us withering away in here? It wants _meat_.”

“Reassuring as always, Eds.”

“ _Don’t_ call me that.”

 _He’s sharp,_ comes a disembodied voice. _You like them sharp, don’t you? Even like when they hurt a little._

“Shut _up_ ,” Richie huffs, but Eddie looks at him, wide-eyed, like he hadn’t heard anything.

“Not you,” Richie says. _Obviously._

Eddie catches on pretty quickly, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. Just for a second. Then he’s off, examining the cave walls.

“I’m going to look for…anything.”

Richie, for his part, searches the cave floor.

It doesn’t take long to see the chalk markings at the centre of the cave.

SEE THE SUN

MAKE A CHOICE

TWO TO ONE

A pistol sits underneath.

_“It’s two to one, Ben. Me and Eddie vote we both stay in the hammock.”_

_“It’s not two to one,” Ben says, looking around pleadingly at the other Losers._

_“I’m neutral,” Bill says. “Like Switzerland.”_

_There’s very little resistance. Bev makes a half-hearted attempt to get Richie and Eddie to ‘stop being dicks’._

_It proves unsuccessful._

_“Decision made,” Eddie says, and he smiles at Richie triumphantly, knocking their knees together. Like he’s forgotten he was trying to get Richie out of the hammock in the first place._

_Richie tries to smile back, but he’s starting to think he made the wrong choice. There are too many legs in this hammock. It’s too warm. His skin prickles too much, when Eddie smiles at him._

_Richie shouldn’t be here._

The gun doesn’t blend with the ground like it should. The illusory light in their cavern glances across its harsh edges, making it almost iridescent.

Video game mechanics, just for Richie. Bright and shiny so you know you have to pick it up. _This object may come in handy._

He takes a few deep breaths, and picks it up.

Eddie, hearing it scrape against the cave floor, turns around. “Jesus. Where did that even come from?”

Richie doesn’t need to answer, because Eddie’s already picked up steam.

“Is that thing real? Do you know how many gun owners accidentally shoot themselves in the foot? A lot, Richie. And you’re the prime demographic, believe me.”

_Not true. He was an ace at the shooting gallery. He had won Eddie that Grumpy Bear, hadn’t he?_

_No matter how many times Eddie had insisted he didn’t want it, and grumbled that Richie had no idea how much dust these things accumulated, and how was he even supposed to get it in his room without a crane?_

_He still carried it all the way through the carnival, and all the way home. He still kept it._

_Once, Richie climbed up to his window to tap on the glass, but stopped short when he saw Eddie, asleep in bed, one arm curled around the bear._

_He climbed back down, fully intending to tease Eddie about it mercilessly the next day. But the next day came, and Richie couldn’t mention it. He felt like he had seen something illicit, which was stupid, because it was the most innocent scene in the world._

_Eddie always feels illicit, even though he allows so much. Too much. Richie wonders if he knows what he’s doing, knows that with every interaction, he’s giving Richie just enough rope to hang himself with._

_He hopes Eddie keeps allowing him that much._

Eventually, Richie’s silence makes Eddie frown, and walk over, freezing in place when he sees the message. His eyes go wide and panicky.

He looks at Richie, searches the thoughts whirring beneath. “Put it down.”

Richie has to act now, before Eddie gets close enough to take it from him.

_Be reckless. Make it work for you, once. Make it work for Eddie._

He tries to lift his hand to his head, but his fingers are shaking, shaking so badly that his hands are suddenly empty, pistol clattering to the cave floor.

 _Richie Tozier. Too chickenshit to save his best friend_.

Eddie’s feet skitter like mouse paws. “‘Put it down’, asswipe, not ‘drop it’”. Thanks for almost making me the 101st person to get shot in the foot this year.”

Richie doesn’t say anything. He’s practicing not crying. You don’t breathe. You just keep swallowing down. He’s dimly aware that there should be a joke there, but he’s too tired. Way too tired.

Eddie stares at him.

Richie really needs to say something in the next five seconds, or Eddie’s going to start worrying about him. And if Eddie starts worrying about one more thing, it might be the last straw that makes him explode with stress.

“I bet it’s not actually 100. I bet half those people mean it proverbially, and their podiatrist gets the wrong idea.”

Eddie stares at him for a little longer. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

That makes Richie smile. Of course it does.

They stand there for a few moments, trying to think of other ways out.

Well. Eddie thinks.

Richie’s certain that there are no other ways out. Why would It create any? Besides, it would’ve been kind of fitting. He thought maybe his blood would be splashed over an engraving on the Kissing Bridge. Thought maybe he’d be the forgotten Loser, left behind while his friends made it to college. Didn’t think he’d die at the hands of a clown monster, per se. But it’s all the same. It’s all dying in Derry.

Eddie looks at the gun. “If we aim it at the cave wall-”

“-it would ricochet,” says Richie. “Bad idea.”

“Do you have a better one?”

Richie picks up the pistol, holds it out to Eddie.

“You need to…”

_Shoot me._

Richie gags on the words. _Christ. A week ago he was playing_ Street Fighter _, ruffling Eddie’s hair to distract him._

“You need to make the choice. You need to make it out.”

“No,” says Eddie. “Not a fucking chance.”

Richie sits down, arms clamped around his legs. Sinks his head to his knees. Scrunches his eyes shut until he sees pink and purple blotches in his vision, and thinks.

 _He might_. _He might if you told him._

When he looks up, Eddie’s sitting next to him.

_Why is it so fucking hard to say now? He used to have to bite down on his tongue so hard it would bleed, just to stop the words bouncing out. Now they won’t move an inch._

_Maybe he just needs a run-up. Rev the motor mouth, right?_

“Guess we’re going to be stuck here for a while, then. You got any suggestions for how to pass the time until starvation hits?”

Eddie just glares at him.

“Oh, I know. Two Truths and a Lie.”

_“I think your gym shorts are the sexiest thing on earth, I’m great at karaoke, and your mother won’t stop calling me.”_

_Eddie sticks his middle finger up. “Last one is the lie. Obviously.”_

_“Eds. I hate to break it to you like this, but…”_

_“Shut up,” Eddie says. “My turn.”_

_He pauses, scratching his forehead._

_“It’s too hard.” His nose wrinkles. “You already know everything about me.”_

_Not true. There’s a missing piece that keeps him up at night. But the words make something ache in his chest all the same._

“I think your gym shorts are the sexiest thing on earth. I’m fucking crazy about you. And your mother won’t stop calling me.”

Silence. He hates silence. Room for observation.

“Richie.” Eddie’s voice sounds soft. Richie doesn’t look at him. Keeps his eyes on the pistol. That’s where this is going. He’s not going to hope for more.

“Richie.” It sounds harsher, now. “Stop looking at that fucking gun. Are you _planning_ on me having a meltdown? Like I’m Henry fucking Bowers?”

It sounds like it hurts. It sounds like it hurts more than having your arm broken and reset by Richie Tozier hurts. Eddie won’t even look at him, but Richie can see his eyes are pearlescent.

This is so much worse than all the worst-case scenarios Richie imagined.

“No,” says Richie. “No, I just thought this would show you. You-you have a shot after you get out of here. Either way, I’m not making it out of Derry alive.”

“Well,” Eddie says, bluntly, “that makes two of us.”

“I know your gym shorts are very scandalous, but I don’t think you’re going to be _killed_ over them.”

Eddie does look at Richie, then. Glares at him, in fact.

“Jesus. You’re so-so obnoxious, and oblivious and-”

He presses his mouth to Richie’s like he’s proving a point, and suddenly it’s bruised lips and clashing teeth, and _oh_ , Richie thinks, _I do like it to hurt_.

Eddie pulls back and looks at him. Richie can barely think. But something akin to hope starts sprouting in his chest, fear falling away in wisps.

“You have to play by the rules,” a familiar voice croons. “Or someone’s going to _rig the game_.”

There’s no yellow eyes or greasepaint face. Just a headless bear towering over them. Blood dribbles from a wound in its chest, painting the fur on its stomach with red raindrops.

“Aw, neither of you look happy to see me.” It points to the soup of innards and stuffing sprouting from its neck. “In case you couldn’t tell, I’m pretty Grumpy mys-”

Richie’s bullet hits, stuffing congealing over the top. It keeps ambling towards them.

Eddie backs away, pulling at Richie’s arm.

“What happened, Eddie? You always used to keep me _close._ ”

Richie shoots again.

It swerves. “And _you_. You couldn’t just win him Tenderheart? Too on the nose?”

A plush heart appears in its hands, beating faster and faster. “Then again. Tender’s just another word for _sickly_.” The claws tighten and Richie rasps, pain spiderwebbing through his chest.

“Richie,” Eddie says, fingers digging into his sleeve, his voice a cyclone of fear, anger and hope. “Richie, we’re going to make it out of Derry. We’re going to live. And we’re going to kill this fucking clown.”

_He’s 13, and it’s the carnival’s last day in town. He’s going to hit that last bottle. He’s going to win, for Eddie._

Richie shoots.

It topples.

And so does the world.

And Richie and Eddie are falling, falling back into a field, Summer sun making them squint.

The daffodils surrounding them give Eddie allergies. He curls an arm around Richie, hides his face against his shoulder to stop the pollen, and for a second it feels like they’re one person.

Richie clutches at the clumps of grass beneath them. Runs his hands into the solid dirt beneath.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, feeling dazed and happy and free.

Eddie lifts his head. “Yes.” He sneezes. “Especially the part about you being obnoxious.”

Dust is covering the both of them, but it can’t hide the blush of Eddie’s cheeks or his powder-pink smile.

Richie grins, and pulls him into a kiss.

Eddie spits out dust and flips him the bird.

And Richie feels perfectly content.

**Author's Note:**

> Me trying to write horror: Care Bears are scary, yes?


End file.
